


Making Friends

by olosta



Series: Disasters are not funny (or are they?) [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bonding, Character Study, Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Team Bonding, Yuri gets the scare of the century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olosta/pseuds/olosta
Summary: ... or, how Mila became Victor's confidante





	Making Friends

**Author's Note:**

> so, in [Sleepy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11181753) , Mila is the one Victor complains to about his misadventure with Yuuri. But wait, how are Victor and Mila so close? They weren’t really shown interacting in the anime?
> 
> ...well, it could have happened like this....

“Victor, hurry up, we’re about to leave!”

The man in question waved at the red-head calling him and returned his attention to his phone: “So, you sure it’s all right if I go to the pub? I’ll try not to stay too long. OK. Sleep tight.”

Victor jogged over to the group of skaters that were waiting near the entrance, ready to depart, and beamed at them. “Sorry, let’s go now.”

“Yuuri isn’t coming, then? Too bad, I thought we could celebrate him medalling on the 4CC,” Mila said, visibly disappointed. “He can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Yuuri’s horrible with jet lag, you can’t even imagine,” Victor rolled his eyes.

“He needs to catch up on sleep so he can get his inner clock on this time again, he said. Buuut, he told me to invite you and Georgi and Yura for dinner tomorrow if you’re free. He brought some Korean spices and we’re going to make some kimbap. Well, at least we’ll try,” Victor finished with a nervous chuckle. Inviting people over for dinner was a new experience for him and he hoped he wouldn’t mess up things too badly, or make them too awkward.

“Oh, that’s cool, of course I’ll come. And we can celebrate too, after all!” Mila clapped her hands, puffing white clouds of warm breath into the frosty evening. “I’m going to tell the others. Hey Georgi! Yura!”

She ran off to hang off the shoulders of the two skaters that closed their little gaggle, red curls bouncing under her white cap. Victor felt a pang of envy. Mila made it look so easy, to walk up to someone and make friends just like that. All the junior skaters loved her and they never hesitated to ask her for advice during training. The only junior who’d ever approached Victor of his own will, and not because the coach told him to, was Yuri – and Yuri was a chapter on his own. The boy was driven by strong purpose and ambition that left even Victor fade by comparison.

Mila had been shy as well when she was in Juniors, but since she transitioned at 16, she’d made several valiant attempts to befriend Victor – only he never really reciprocated, keeping polite distance. Her zeal seemed to abate after a while, but it all changed after The Banquet, and Mila used the first occasion to adopt Victor into their circle of friends. 

Victor was still unsure how to interact with his new friends. When it came to PR and communications with media and fans, Victor was, hands down, the best. He could charm the pants off of just anyone, regardless of gender or age. But interacting with his rink-mates in a casual manner? Not so good. The only person before he could honestly call a friend was Chris, and it was also mostly due to the fact that most of their interaction happened online. 

Then he disappeared to Japan to discover a whole new world of relationships, and when he finally returned to Russia followed by Yuuri, he resolved himself to learn how to friend.

A smile stretched the corners of his mouth when Mila announced the dinner invitations to the boys and he heard Georgi’s dramatic sigh of “That’s so nice from him,” and Yura’s angry “Yeah, whatever.” Mila turned, walking backwards, and gave him thumbs up with a wide grin.

In late February, Saint Petersburg was still deep in the clutches of winter, but none of the Russians minded that. The walk to the bar was short, and the chilly, snow saturated air was not something that would bother people who spent a large portion of their lives on ice. 

The skaters had been surprised when Victor agreed to join them this time. Their outing took usually place on Saturday, before their day off, but as this week the rink was closed on Tuesday because of an event, they decided to go out bonding on Monday as well. Then Mila asked Victor and he said yes, so here they were, in the dingy bar around the corner, throwing secretive glances at their role model, five time World Champion and the Russian Legend, Victor Nikiforov. All of them were younger than Victor by several years, except for Georgi. But even he looked totally comfortable among the skaters, chatting amiably and laughing at jokes that Victor obviously missed the gist of. 

It was obvious to him that the others had spent a lot of time together. They talked about relationships, about school, gossiped about their coaches. It was a completely different kind of conversation Victor was used to, entertaining sponsors with his fake smile turned on, taking polite turns in accepting and throwing out empty compliments. The people here were speaking one over another, trying to out-shout the music and the general dint of conversation. 

Victor was beginning to feel overwhelmed; he knocked back his vodka, contemplating whether he should excuse himself after all and go home to snuggle in bed with his Yuuri, when Mila turned to him and pulled him into conversation with enviable ease. Perhaps the evening was worth giving a try, after all.

***

It was past eleven and the bar was almost empty. Most of the skaters had already left, Yuri being first at half past eight, complaining that it was not fun to be around buzzed adults when he was not allowed to drink at all. Not that he wanted to. Georgi left soon after, and then the others trickled away, until only Mila and Victor remained. Discovering they had a similar sense of humour, they amused themselves by teasing their rink-mates for the better part of the evening. 

Mila regarded Victor, chin propped on her hands. “Y’know,” she said, “you’re actually a decent guy. Cool, even.”

“What, you only notice it now?” Victor chuckled.

“Well, you never used to spend time with us like this,” she threw her other hand up in the air. “I mean, we all looked up to you, we still do, but – as it is, many people thought you’re haughty, and insensitive at times. Like, you’re this genius who thinks everything is easy to do, just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “but who forgets that it’s different for people with less talent.”

She held up her palm, almost hitting Victor’s nose, when he wanted to protest: “I know you’re not. I mean you are. A genius. And not haughty. But I also know you worked very hard. It’s just… you’ve always kept your distance and made it impossible for us to approach you on our own. You were, like, living in your own special world, high up in the clouds. But you’re actually a really cool dude,” she conceded, patting Victor’s hand.

“I never realized I’d been lonely all these years,” Victor confessed. “But all of the skaters I started with have already retired, except for Georgi. You’re all so young and I’ve always felt a bit responsible for you, like, I wanted to be a good example and an inspiration. But,” he sighed, “then I guess I just got used to being at the top.” Victor’s lips stretched in a smile when Mila mockingly jabbed him into his ribs. 

“Anyway, then Yuuri happened and I realized I was missing something.”

“It’s good you brought Yuuri back with you. He’s good for you. Makes you mellow somehow, more approachable,” Mila said with a nod.

“I know,” Victor said. “I want to get to know you better; if you’ll have me, that is.”

Mila patted his hand. “Of course we will. Both you and Yuuri.”

For some reason, Victor’s eyes pricked a bit, so he cleared his throat and ordered another round of vodka before the traitorous tears could could spill over. 

They chatted some more and Mila was more than glad to fill Victor up on all the gossip and intrigues he hadn’t had a clue were going on in the rink. He had really missed much. Both were more drunk than buzzed now and were getting progressively louder, until the bartender shushed them, announcing the last round.

Two vodka-based long drinks were put in front of them. Mila stirred the ice around with the straw for a while and then her face shot up.

“Victor!” she exclaimed.

“Mila!” he echoed, giggling.

“No, wait, I have an imp-hick-mportant question for you,” she slurred. “When, um, did you know you’re gay?”

Victor blinked several times before he answered. “Dunno, since I can remember, I guess. Why?”

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed sex with guys,” she started, and Victor nodded emphatically. Mila was a known danger for all hockey players who happened to share the rink with them. “But there’s this girl, she’s a skater too, you see? And she’s gorgeous, and I, um, I think I’m attracted to her? How does one know if one’s really into girls? What about the men I’ve slept with?”

“Hmm,” Victor hummed. “P’raps you just want to experiment a bit. I did that too, you know, once. It hadn’t been my best idea.” 

He scrunched up his nose and Mila giggled.

“Or, you could be bisexual,” Victor said, finishing his drink with a loud slurp.

“Oh.” Mila’e eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Didn’t think ‘bout that one. Wow. Thanks.”

They paid and left the bar, deciding to call a taxi as it was too cold now even for them. The short wait in the chill of the night left them wide-awake and neither felt like going home and sleeping just yet. So when Mila complained that she wanted to congratulate Yuuri after all and Victor invited her over, she quickly agreed without giving a thought to the practicalities of his idea. 

***

Yuuri is a deep sleeper; there are not many things that he isn’t able to sleep through. But when two drunken Russians burst through the bedroom door hollering his name and giggling, he goes from deeply asleep to fully alert in a matter of seconds. 

He manages to half sit up, but he doesn’t have time to reach to the bedside table and retrieve his glasses, which, in hindsight, proves clever. Mila and Victor, seeing that the Japanese skater is conscious, let out a victorious cry and, crossing the room in a few strides, launch themselves on their unsuspecting victim, shouting “Congratulations!!!”

Yuuri has a sudden déjà-vu of Barcelona, although now at least his attackers are dry and warm and one of them is soft on all the weird places – is that a boob? Oh my god, Yuuri thinks, I might have just accidentally felt up my new rink-mate I barely know? Am I now one of those people who grab strangers just like that, like Christophe??

Yuuri tries his best to scuttle away, a feat with almost 70 kilo of Russian hanging off of him and nuzzling his nose onto the exposed skin on Yuuri’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up in the shuffle. Yuuri keeps repeating “sorry, sorry”, slipping from English to Japanese to Russian; Victor is babbling incoherent endearments, Mila is sitting cross-legged on the bed and laughing, and for better or worse, Makkachin decides to contribute to the cacophony and starts howling.

***

Mila woke up with a groan. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt as if stuffed with cotton. Dirty, foul-tasting cotton. She tentatively opened her eyes, assessing the situation. The bed she was lying in was fluffy enough, but the smell was different, although not unfamiliar.

The room was obviously oriented eastwards, as it was filled with sunshine. Above her hung what looked like a dozen light bulbs in mason jars, and Mila’s gaze got stuck for a moment on them, trying and failing to wrap her mind around what she saw. 

Perhaps it was because of that that suddenly as if a proverbial lightbulb flashed in her mind and she remembered where she was. In Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. More specifically, in their bed.

She sat up too fast, which was not a clever move – for two reasons. Firstly, her head suddenly wanted to split open, and secondly, as the duvet fell off her, she realized she was naked.

A quick check under the covers reassured her that she at least retained her panties.

The nudity was nothing new to her. She knew she had the tendency to shed her bra when she was drunk, because it always seemed to itch unbearably. But usually she did that when she was home, in her own bed.

Some good soul had put a glass of water and two pills on the bed-side table, which she swallowed with gratitude. There was also a large bowl on the floor next to the bed, likely in case she was sick. How considerate. The next thing she noticed was that someone put a T-shirt, which she recognized as Victor’s, on the foot of the bed. It was a nice gesture, but it brought fort more questions about where the rest of her clothing was. 

The sick-bowl was empty, and her hair didn’t smell like her being sick either, but Mila really didn’t remember anything. Her bra was not in the bed, nor was it anywhere in sight in the room. When she was sure her brains wouldn’t fall out off her head, she stood up and crouched gingerly, looking for her it under the bed. There it was, tossed somehow in the middle where she couldn’t reach without wriggling half of her body under it. Which she absolutely wouldn’t try in her current state, lest she wanted to make use of the bowl after all. Stupid king sized bed!

She let out an irritated whimper and pulled the shirt over her head. It reached to the middle of her thights, so at least she needn’t concern herself with where her pants had gone, for now at least. The delicious smell of coffee hit her nose and she felt an unbearable desire to find its source.

She slowly opened the door, putting her head out first, and squeaked when a flurry of brown and grey curls squeezed its way by her, pushing the door aside. Makkachin scrambled on the bed and curled on the covers with a contended sigh. 

The commotion drew the attention of the two men in the kitchen towards her. Victor was sitting at the aisle with a bleary face; he had bags under his eyes and his hair was in a state of disarray Mila had never expected to see on him. Yuuri was standing at the counter, looking at her with tired, but gentle eyes.

“Mila, good morning,” he said, beckoning the young woman. “Come and join us; I’m making breakfast. Although I don’t know if you want to eat anything.”

He didn’t bat an eyelash when Victor put his head in his hands and groaned. 

“I guess Victor is not hungry. But I made coffee as well.” He lifted a steaming mug, gesturing with his other hand for her to sit down.

Mila made a few steps towards the kitchen before she stopped. She felt her cheeks getting hot. It was so, so awkward, waking up in the bed of her friends, of her gay friends no less, with a massive hangover, half naked. With no memory of what had happened to her clothes, or when she’d lost them. 

She scratched her head, unsure what to do.

Yuuri laughed. “It’s OK, you don’t have to be embarrassed. We all have been drunk at one time or another. Oh, your clothes are in the laundry, by the way. There had been a small accident.”

At these words, Victor let out another groan and let his head fall on the table with a thud. Then he whined again and Mila winced in sympathy: it was a mistake, considering his state.

“What… accident?” Mila was not so sure she really wanted to know. “Did I- I mean, was I sick?” English felt clumsy in her mouth right now. Oh please, do not say yes, I’m ashamed enough as it is, she pleaded inwardly.

“No, you were not sick. Unlike someone else,” here Yuuri paused and threw his boyfriend an exasperated look, shaking his head.

“You decided you’d sleep in the bed, because it was nice and fluffy,” he said and Mila winced.

“Victor got jealous and wanted to fight his way back to the bed and pull you out of it. He succeeded, but you elbowed him into the stomach and well….his stomach didn’t take it too well.”

“Victor puked on me?” Mila felt a chuckle bubble up her throat despite how miserable she felt.

“I’m sorry,” Victor whimpered, hiding his head under his arms.

Yuuri sighed. “At least you were out of the bed when it happened. You also immediately got rid of the clothes, crawled back to the bed and fell asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I went to the guest-room.”

Mila’s jaw dropped. “Oh god, Yuuri, I’m so embarrassed. I threw you out of your own bed!”

“It’s okay, “ Yuuri smiled. “The bed in the guest room is comfy enough.”

“But isn’t it too small for two people?”

At that, Yuuri grimaced. “Well, Victor was sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m so sorry.” It seemed that it were the only words that Victor was able to utter right now.

They didn’t notice the jingle of the keys at the entrance and were jolted out of their thoughts when a loud voice thundered into the room, followed by a thud of shoes being kicked aside:

“I hope you geezers are up, so we can start preparing the dinner for Katsudon’s celebration and…”

Yuri’s voice cut off abruptly when he rounded the corner and took in the scene in front of him:

Victor in only his briefs, sitting bent behind the table; Yuuri in his sleeping pants and a worn-out shirt, clutching a mug of coffee; Mila with mussed hair, apparently wearing nothing but what looked like one of Victor’s training shirts.

“What the fuck!!” he yelled. “What is fucking happening here?? What did you do? Are you out of your mind? I don’t even want to know, I just...”

The apartment was once more filled with an explosion of sounds: Victor was whining, complaining about Yuri’s loud voice doing things to his head, Yuuri trying to calm the young skater down and explain the situation, and Mila for some reason couldn’t do anything other than giggle like mad. 

It took some time until everything calmed down. Yuri eyed them suspiciously, not sure whether he should believe their explanation, until Yuuri finally managed to mollify him with a steaming mug of hot cocoa. Victor retreated to the bedroom to nurse his hangover, but not before a furiously blushing Yuuri fished out Mila’s bra from under the bed and pressed it into her hands. 

“Your clothes are in the dryer; the program should be finished by now,” he said, directing her towards the shower. 

Mila gladly took up the offer, washing off yesterday’s night. After she emerged from the bathroom, she collected her a purse and her phone, announcing she would go home for lunch and be back for the dinner. Yuri had stayed behind to help with preparations, seeing as Victor would be useless for at least a couple of hours.

***

When Victor woke up after several hours of a much needed nap, his head almost stopped hurting. He tried to sneak out of the bedroom and into the bathroom without anyone noticing him as he still felt remorseful for getting drunk and not being able to help Yuuri with the dinner. But as he opened the door, he heard a laughter that stopped him in his tracks. It sounded like Yuri’s – small, proud, angry Yuri’s – followed by the deeper chuckle of his love. 

This piqued his curiosity, overcoming his bad consciousness, and he boldly stepped in front of the two of them. It seemed that Yuuri had forgiven him already. He beamed when he saw Victor and didn’t protest when the Russian closed the distance between them and threw his arms around his shoulders.

But he was stopped by Yuuri pressing a palm into his face when we made an attempt to kiss the Japanese man. 

“Gah, you smell. Go shower.” Yuuri turned him by the shoulders and patted his butt, sending him off into the bathroom. Victor meekly obeyed; even before he rounded the corner, the both of younger men were laughing again – and it made him feel warm around his heart.

He had just finished dressing up when he heard Mila’s and Georgi’s voice. Throwing a last cursory glance into the mirror but not really paying attention to his looks, he hurried out into the living room to welcome his guests. It turned out to be the best evening Victor had experienced in a long time. 

Spent with his friends.


End file.
